Volume Ii Part 65 (1/2)

I was at Howth to-day, and staid abroad a-visiting till just now.

Tuesday Evening, Nov. 23, 1731.

”Can you match with me, Who send thirty-three?

You must get fourteen more, To make up thirty-four: But, if me you can conquer, I'll own you a strong cur.”[2]

This morning I'm growing, by smelling of yew, sick; My brother's come over with gold from Peru sick; Last night I came home in a storm that then blew sick; This moment my dog at a cat I halloo sick; I hear from good hands, that my poor cousin Hugh's sick; By quaffing a bottle, and pulling a screw sick: And now there's no more I can write (you'll excuse) sick; You see that I scorn to mention word music.

I'll do my best, To send the rest; Without a jest, I'll stand the test.

These lines that I send you, I hope you'll peruse sick; I'll make you with writing a little more news sick; Last night I came home with drinking of booze sick; My carpenter swears that he'll hack and he'll hew sick.

An officer's lady, I'm told, is tattoo sick; I'm afraid that the line thirty-four you will view sick.

Lord! I could write a dozen more; You see I've mounted thirty-four.

[Footnote 1: Time.--_Dublin Edition._]

[Footnote 2: The lines ”thus marked” were written by Dr. Swift, at the bottom of Dr. Helsham's twenty lines; and the following fourteen were afterwards added on the same paper.--_N._]

A TRUE AND FAITHFUL INVENTORY OF THE GOODS BELONGING TO DR. SWIFT, VICAR OF LARACOR.

UPON LENDING HIS HOUSE TO THE BISHOP OF MEATH, UNTIL HIS OWN WAS BUILT[1]

An oaken broken elbow-chair; A caudle cup without an ear; A batter'd, shatter'd ash bedstead; A box of deal, without a lid; A pair of tongs, but out of joint; A back-sword poker, without point; A pot that's crack'd across, around, With an old knotted garter bound; An iron lock, without a key; A wig, with hanging, grown quite grey; A curtain, worn to half a stripe; A pair of bellows, without pipe; A dish, which might good meat afford once; An Ovid, and an old Concordance; A bottle-bottom, wooden-platter One is for meal, and one for water; There likewise is a copper skillet, Which runs as fast out as you fill it; A candlestick, snuff-dish, and save-all, And thus his household goods you have all.

These, to your lords.h.i.+p, as a friend, 'Till you have built, I freely lend: They'll serve your lords.h.i.+p for a s.h.i.+ft; Why not as well as Doctor Swift?

[Footnote 1: This poem was written by Sheridan, who had it presented to the Bishop by a beggar, in the form of a pet.i.tion, to Swift's great surprise, who was in the carriage with his Lords.h.i.+p at the time.--_Scott._]

A NEW SIMILE FOR THE LADIES WITH USEFUL ANNOTATIONS, BY DR. SHERIDAN[1]

1733

To make a writer miss his end, You've nothing else to do but mend.

I often tried in vain to find A simile[2] for womankind, A simile, I mean, to fit 'em, In every circ.u.mstance to hit 'em.[3]

Through every beast and bird I went, I ransack'd every element; And, after peeping through all nature, To find so whimsical a creature, A cloud[4] presented to my view, And straight this parallel I drew: Clouds turn with every wind about, They keep us in suspense and doubt, Yet, oft perverse, like womankind, Are seen to scud against the wind: And are not women just the same?

For who can tell at what they aim?[5]

Clouds keep the stoutest mortals under, When, bellowing,[6] they discharge their thunder: So, when the alarum-bell is rung, Of Xanti's[7] everlasting tongue, The husband dreads its loudness more Than lightning's flash, or thunder's roar.

Clouds weep, as they do, without pain; And what are tears but women's rain?

The clouds about the welkin roam:[8]

And ladies never stay at home.

The clouds build castles in the air, A thing peculiar to the fair: For all the schemes of their forecasting,[9]

Are not more solid nor more lasting.

A cloud is light by turns, and dark, Such is a lady with her spark; Now with a sudden pouting[10] gloom She seems to darken all the room; Again she's pleased, his fear's beguiled,[11]

And all is clear when she has smiled.

In this they're wondrously alike, (I hope the simile will strike,)[12]

Though in the darkest dumps[13] you view them, Stay but a moment, you'll see through them.